


4.20.99

by sxmvxs



Category: Columbine - Fandom, Dylan Klebold - Fandom, Eric Harris - Fandom
Genre: Columbine, Crime, Other, School Shootings, True Crime, columbine high school - Freeform, tcc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 01:16:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17234684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sxmvxs/pseuds/sxmvxs
Summary: tw// school shooting, homicide, suicide.





	4.20.99

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this at a strange time in my life.

"when?"

it was a simple but significant decision. 

"the seventeenth?"

"that's a saturday." 

fuck. this was the final step in the planning stage, and it seemed to make the whole thing a little more real. a little less of a dream. 

"what about the twentieth?" 

"a tuesday?" 

"yeah, why not?" 

"well..." well? 

"it works." 

\- 

a year and three months. lots of time to plan and prepare. we need money for the supplies. all that's made of it yet are tiny glances at each other when it comes up on the television, and admiration in our eyes when we look at our soon to be partners in crime. a year and three months. 

\- 

11 months. we haven't started yet, but it comes up in our lives a lot more. in music, the news, during class. it's like a fucking movie. just a look at the other will convey what we're thinking - and it's always the same thing. 

we began showing each other things related to it. we set aside newspaper ads and books. we pointed out lyrics and lines in movies that would fit the situation. every fucking time we watched a quentin tarantino movie or listened to our cd's, it'd remind us. 11 fucking months. 

\- 

8 months. we have most of what we need. we're getting someone from work to hook us up. most of our nights consist of planning and getting drunk off of vodka and orange juice. when we're not together, we call or chat on the computer. 

a couple hundred pages deep into a book about world war ii. again, it reminded us. 

\- 

5 months. we have all but one thing. we're getting it next week.

a couple more trips to the range and a couple more sleepless nights. a couple more cigarettes, a couple more swigs from a bottle of tequila. we're almost ready.

almost. 

\- 

2 months. it's surprisingly easy to live knowing what we know. knowing what we're going to do. we've been on edge recently, to no surprise. we're ecstatic. either that or we're terrified. the adrenaline comes in little shots brought on by glances at the commons and envisioning doom as our last hoorah.

we have everything now. we went to a show in town and got our 18 year old friend to buy us the final piece to this fucked up puzzle. 

\- 

two weeks. everything is in slow motion. its sadder, more morbid. it's like we've risen above these zombies, watching them mindlessly drag themselves around and call it living. it's almost as if they know what's coming more than we do. 

the stress has definitely kicked in. that mixed with the anticipation has become a deadly cocktail of hormones, and we've chugged all of it. it has almost become us. we've accepted it.

-

26 hours. the only things we can speak about our plans are small "holy shit" 's and countless recaps of our schedule we've spent hours, maybe days working on. 

plan a

bombs go off at 11:18. go inside, gun down any survivors. say goodbye to the scum that has brought this on and hope for the best. 

"and if that doesnt work?" 

"shit, uh," 

plan b

bombs dont go off, go into the hell we call columbine, gun down anyone in our path. traumatize the place that has given us hell for four fucking years and make them never forget. say goodbye to the only person you can say goodbye to and hope for the worst. 

\- 

two hours. three skipped classes, one angry friend. 

"where the hell were you? we had a test, what the fuck is wrong with you?" 

a scoff. "it doesn't matter anymore." 

it doesn't matter anymore.

-

sixty minutes. the hood of an old black bmw. anxious glances at watches. 

living is hard when you're prepared to die.

-

43 minutes. no sound from the commons. no screams, no blood. no police sirens. 

plan b. 

we grab our gear and supplies and head straight for the eye of the storm. 

bang. 

"just like fucking doom,"

just like fucking doom. 

\- 

8 minutes. surrounded by books and terrorized, hushed noises coming from under the wooden tables. we lost count of how many zombies we have killed. 

bang. 

one more down. we can see the policemen from the library. 

bang. 

"we're running out of time. pigs are here." 

"i know."

bang. 

"let's get this over with." 

firearms down. coats off, necklaces and gloves set down on the harsh carpet. 

highschool. the best years of your life. 

"i'll do the honor." 

loaded. positioned. 

"well..." well?

 

"see you later." 

"see you." 

bang.

12:01pm

bang.


End file.
